
jiiiiiiiiiililiti jiniiliiiiii 



^ibvarjf of (Rowpt^^. 



.^/^// \Usj - 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



ijc. 



POEMS 



»:! . 



^VALTER M. LINDSAY. 



" A planet's shot, a sliado which fulloweth, 
A voice wliich vanisliedi so soon as heard.' 




NEW YORK: 

D. APPLETON & COMPANY, 

340 & 348 BROADWAY. 

1850. 






Entered, according to Act of Congress, In the year 1856, by 

D. APPLETON & COMPANY, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for tlie 
Southern District of New Torlj. 



CONTENTS. 



PAOE 

PEELUDE, 7 

THY PICTURE, 9 

THY NATURE AND MINE, 11 

THE SHIPWRECK, 13 

THY SOUL AT PRAYER, 15 

TO THY MEMORY, 16 

COME FORTH, 13 

HUMAN WEAKNESS, 20 

THE DEAD BLOSSOM, 21 

MY HOPE, 22 

THE SABBATH BELL, 24 

MY LIFE, 27 

OH! COME, 29 

MY DREAM, 30 

MY WEALTH, 82 



4 CONTENTS. 

TAdK 

DO YOU REMEMBER? 83 

THY SORROWS, 35 

THE W ISU, 36 

now BEAUTIFUL THOU ART! 3S 

CONSIDER, 40 

ERROR IN LIFE, 41 

HOPE, 43 

DREAM ON, 44 

THOU KNOWEST NOT, 47 

NO MORE, 4S 

THE LAST OF THE VINTAGE, 50 

THE STREAM OP LIFE, 52 

GONE, 54 

SINK TO THY REST, 50 

A CALM UNKNOWN, 53 

GRAVES, 59 

THY FANCY IS, 62 

WHEN I CONSIDER, 65 

WHY NOT CONTENT, (56 

THE JOURNEY OF LIFE, 07 

I HAVE BEEN HAPRY, 71 

THE DEATH OF THE YEAR, 73 

I LOVE THEE, 75 

ro THE PUREST, 70 

1 HAVE OUT WATCHED, 79 

THY RULE, 80 

MY 8<^UL, 82 



CONTENTS. O 

PACK 

UNTO THE BROKEN HEART, 84 

THIS APKIL MOON, 86 

I WATCH ALONE, S9 

WE ARE NOT MASTERS, 91 

OH! PROPHET HEART, 93 

DREAMING 95 

THE HISTORY, 98 

THE VOICE OF PRAYER, 100 

OH! MORNING STAR 102 

THE COMING SHADOW, 104 

REMEMBRANCES, 106 

THE HARVEST OF LIFE, 108 

MY SOUL IS DARK 110 

RELIGION, 114 

TO MY SOUL, lie 

THE DEAD, lis 

SOLITARY PRAYER, 119 

PRAYER, 121 

THE PLOUGHSHARE, 123 

A WINTER NIGHT, 124 

I KNOW AT LAST, 125 

TO MY SOUL, 127 

IT IS NOT LIFE, 129 

THE TIDE OF ANGER, 131 

FAREWELL, 134 

THE SABBATH MORN, I37 

THE VOYAGE OF LIFE, 139 



CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

EAKLY DEATH, 142 

A LITTLE WHILE, 144 

IF HOLY ANGELS 145 

IT IS A YEAE, 147 

THY LIFE, 150 

1 AM NOT FEEE, 152 

OH! TREE OF KNOWLEDGE, 154 

TO HOME KETURNED, 155 

I HAVE NOT SEEN THEE, 157 

UNMOVED WE SEE, 159 

THE HEART IS SELFISH, 162 

UPON THE THRESHOLD, 166 

I STOOD ALONE, 168 

IN VAIN, 171 

THE CLOUD,. 173 

THE WATCHES OP THE NIGHT, 17S 

MY LOVE NO SOLACE IS, 183 

MY VISION, 187 

WE MAY BE PARTED, 192 

THE DEATH OF HOPE, 194 

CONCLUSION, 197 



PEELUDE. 

Oh ! memory, let thy pilgrim feet 
Unto tJie shores of youth return ! 

Where golden sands and billows meet, 
TJie morning ligMs have ceased to burn. 

Walk silent in the evening gray, 
And hear the voices of the sea 
Repeat the story cf a day, 

That never shall return to thee ! 

Brookdale, N. Y., January, 1856. 



THY PICTUKE. 

The grace of cliildliood clings to thee, 

In thy maturing youth ; 
Thy woman looks are eloquent 

With purity and truth ; 
And, in thy gentle mien, there is 

The steadfastness of Ruth. 

There have been locks of richer brown, 
And eyes as calmly bright, 

And cheeks that blushed a rosier hue, 
And brows as marble white ; 

But never one, whose beauty stirred 

The heart to more delight. 

2 



10 POEMS. 

Expression such as thine it was, — 

As beautiful and mild, — 
That, in the watches of the night, 

Upon the painter smiled, 
Beside his canvas dreaming of 

Madonna and her Child. 

Thy mind is like a placid stream, 
Outspread beneath the sky, 

That mirrors in its waters all 
The changing world on high, — 

The sun, the stars, the wandering cloud. 
That slowly saileth by. 

We are not wholly left of Heaver, 
While such remain on earth. 

Who from no human standard take 
The measure of their worth. 

But were created perfect by 

The Hand that gave them birth. 



THY NATURE AND MINE. 

Thou enterest in the House of God, 

As freely as a child 
Its father's presence ; for on thee 

The Holy One has smiled, 
And, in thy breast, a dwelling made 

For nature undefiled. 

Between thee and the hosts of heaven 
Is spread no sombre cloud ; 

The angels answer to thy need, 
When thou in prayer art bowed. 

Thy whisper, at the Holy gates 
Their lips repeat aloud. 



12 POEMS. 

But I — whene'er I seek to pray — 

Feel that the words alone 
Have passed my lips. My heart within 

Is closed, as with a stone ; 
And my sepulchred soul is left 

To make unheard its moan. 

Unless an angel break the seal, 

And roll that stone away, 
I shall until the end, remain 

In darkness, though the day 
Break clearer in our common sky. 

Oh ! wherefore then delay ! 



THE SHIPWEECK. 

Ah ! blame me not, if I have been 

A shipwrecked man. 
Thou canst not tell how strong the tide 

And current ran. 

The same sweet scenes are round thee now, 

As in the past : 
Thy sheltered ear has never heard 

The ocean blast. 



14 POEMS. 

The slenderest bark can safely float 

In waters still, 
But whirlwinds, on the stoutest ship, 

Must work their will. 

I could not breast the wintry storm, 

And, evermore, 
Must make my home among the weeds 

Upon the shore ! 



THY SOUL AT PRAYER. 

This Sabbath morn, tliy soul has made 

Anew its peace with heaven ; 
Thy chamber is the temple, where 

Thy offerings are given. 
And yet thou prayest, not alone 

At morn and evening hours ; 
Thy holy thoughts to God ascend 

Always. — As the flowers 
Unconscious of their sweetness are, 

Yet breathe it on the air 
In all their day, so thy pure life 

Is an unceasing prayer. 



TO THY MEMOEY. 

Yes ! thou art fair ! 
I had not thought 
Again to be by passion wrought 

To such excess of love, 
But that, in absence, I could bear 
A mind above 
Its influence, and control 
The movements of my soul. 



TO THY MEMOEY. 17 

As unto one. 
Who hung, in other years, 
A harp between the trees, 
Which, silent long, • 
Again renews its melodies. 
And wild aerial song, 
My life to me appears ! 
Time has restrung 
The loosened chords, and now among 

The rocks and valleys wild. 
Which all my pathways in the world beset, 
I linger yet. 
Again a child ; 
For angel songs arc in my ear, 
When thou art near ! 

2» 



COME FORTH. 

Come forth, beneath the heaven, 
While yet the sunlight in the sky 

Shineth on the brow of even. 

No shadow clouds thy gazing eye. 

Behold the beauty of the earth ! 

The waters lie 

Encompassed by a glorious frame 

Of earth and sky ! 



COME FORTH. 19 

In all, thy spirit is content. 

The absent are 
Forgotten in the firmament ! 

The evening star, — > 

The murmur of the Summer wind, — 

The leafy trees around, — 
Are in thy silent heart enshrined. 

A deeper peace has found 

Sweet access to thee, and thy breast 

Is calm as Nature in her rest ! 



HUMAN WEAKNESS. 

As men toil up the mountain side, 

The weary day, 
And from the top behold the sky, 

Yet far away ; 
So holiest men, from youth to age, 

Make pilgrimage ! 

We may depart the valleys deep, 

And high ascend ; 
But yet around us is the earth. 

Until the end. 
Ourselves, alas ! we cannot raise 

Above our days ! 



THE DEAD BLOSSOM. 

The blossom died in early May, 
Before I knew its sweeter prime , 

No mellow frait upon the bough 

Shall hang in Autumn's harvest time. 

Alone the naked tree shall stand, 

Fruitless in the teeming land. 

But when the Winter, chill and drear, 
Whirls the leaves on every side, 

All shall then as naked be 

As the tree whose blossom died. 

For in the Winter, none can say 

Which has blossomed in the May. 



MY HOPE. 

Shall I reveal to thee my hope ? 

It is that I may be 
Soon conscious of thy maiden love : 

Then shall the darkened sea 
Break glorious on the coasts of earth,- 

The freighted argosy 
Shall spread its sails unto the wind, 
And leave the barren past behind. 



MY HOPE. 23 

Perhaps to me the future wears 

A hue more bright than may 
Adoru it, when the sun shall look 

Upon the noon of day ; 
But, to my hope, a golden orb 

Seems shining on the way, 
Undimmed by all the clouds which lie 
Thick strown beneath the morning sky. 



THE SABBATH BELL. 

How like a knell 
Sounds the far off Sabbath bell ! 

Not unto me 
The summons speaks an accent glad. 
Eternity- 
Hath meaning sad 
Unto my faint, prophetic soul 1 
The ages shall their circuit roll 

In endless gloom. 
From the low portals of the tomb, 
I see the dark procession go, 
Dumb in its ecstasy of woe ! 



THE SABBATH BELL. 25 

Oh! Sabbath bell! 
My weary ears remember thee I 

Upon the swell 
Of that uacertain, clouded sea, 
Which bounds the voyage of our life, 
My shallop rose and fell 
In frolic glee. 
When first thy echo came to me ! 
I did not heed thy warning note. 

But hoisted sail, 
And watched my shallop outward float. 

Oh I spirit, wail 
The long, long voyage from the shore, — 

The wreck upon the sand ! 
Oh I spirit, wail the chance that bore 
Me desolate to land ! 

Oh! Sabbath bell. 
To me thou soundest as a knell ! 



26 POEMS. 

For, wandering on the silent shore, 

I look upon the sea, 
And know that sorrow, evermore, 

Companion is to me. 
In shipwreck, it alone remained. 
It points me to the ebbing wave, 
It points me to the sand, 
Where it, with spectre hand, 
Is digging at my shallow grave ! 



MY LIFE. 

As one may see the laden ship, 

Moored near the shore 
By slender cables, safely ride 

The waters o'er, 
While whirlwinds toss the sea to foam,- 

My life abides. 
Thy love is my sure anchorage : 

The changing tides 
Of circumstance but stretch the chain ; 
The ship floats safely on the main. 



28 POEMS. 

But all the coasts of Time are set 

With rock-bound shores ; 
And, if the slender cable broke, 

The laboring oars 
Unto the sea were stretched in vain. 

The leaping wave 
That spendeth now its force in spray, 

Would to a grave, 
Beneath the angry billows, bear 
The laden ship that rideth there ! 



OH ! COME. 

Oh ! come to me in dreams to-night ! 

Beside me sleeping stand ; 
And bending, touch my troubled brow 

With gentle hand ! 

My waking heart is weary with 
Its longing watch for thee ; 

Oh ! therefore in a vision come, 
And look on me I 

So came the angels, in the past. 
To those who inly prayed ; 

And for thy coming, holiest wish 
My soul has made ! 



MY DREAM. 

How sweet were toil, if thou wouldst be 

Companion to my lot ! 
Beneath the heaviest burden then 

My soul would murmur not. 

Nay, all the labor of the day 
Were lightened by the thought, 

That each swift moment, to thy side 
My steps at evening brought. 



MY DREAM. 31 

The timeSj unto our converse left, 

Were stars within the sky 
Of an unclouded Summer night, 

Sweet love ! if thou wert nigh. 

My many cares at evening hours, 

When all my toil was done. 
Would gently rest, as folded flowers 

Await the morning sun ! 



MY WEALTH. 

I AM not poor, with love like thine ; 

Thou art the sunshine of my heart ; 
My empty cup is brimmed with wine, 

When I remember what thou art. 

In thy sweet face my future lies. 
Thy words an endless music are ; 

And hope has kindled in thine eyes, 
The light that guides me near and far. 

What though I own nor house, nor land, 
Nor sway the minds of kindred men, 

While I a wealth of heart command. 
Which spent, returns to me again ! 



DO YOU REMEMBER ? 

Do you remember 
One who wandered at your side, 
In the dusk of eventide, 

Many months ago, 

While tlie snow 
Yet lingered in the valley green ? 

The ember 

Smoulders on the hearth, unseen. 

Throughout the weary day. 

When those, for whom it kindled first, 

Are far away. 

Thus I remember I 
3 



34 POEMS. 

For thee, 
The skies are calm and bright. 
And to thy far-off sunset shall 
Succeed a starry night. 
But we shall be 
Apart on life's unresting sea. 

Like to an isle in Tropic seas, 
For ever fair 
Thy life shall stand ; 
While we 
The storm, or Summer breeze. 
Alike shall bear 
Yet farther from the land, 
'Till some to-morrow's dawning light 

Shall glance upon the troubled wave. 
And here and there reveal a spar, 

Tossed high above an ocean grave. 



THY SORROWS. 

Thy sorrows are the ministers 

Of God unto thy soul. 
They pour the drop of bitterness 

Into the golden bowl, 
Whose sweetness, else, would steep thy 
heart. 

In worldly bliss alone. 
Receive them as ambassadors, 

Sent from the Holy Throne 
To the beloved of the earth, 

And, through the blinding tear. 
The glory of their angel form 

Unto thee will appear. 



THE WISH. 

Forgive me, if, in sadder hours, 

I wish thy earthly path 
Was not through sunshine and through 
flowers ; 

For now thy journey hath 
No need of a sustaining hand, — 

No need of friendly cheer ; 
A sunlit pathway, through the land, 

Leads on from year to year. 



THE WISH. 37 

Hadst thou been born to other fate, 

And, wandering on alone, 
Eeached, with sad heart, the iron gate. 

Between whose portals shone 
The watch-fires in the fields of life, 

How gladly had I then 
Thy footsteps guided through the strife 

Of myriad struggling men ! 



HOW BEAUTIFUL THOU AKT ! 

How beautiful thou art ! 
In the sad silence of an hour, 
Wherein I knew my heart 
Would never more on earth have power 
To win confession of thy love, 

Into my soul 
Thy image sank ; and though above 

Its surface roll 
The angry tides of human life, 
Yet nature, in the endless strife, 
Shall leave, untouched, the tender grace 

Of thy remembered face. 



HOW BEAUTIFUL THOU ART I 39 

How wild was that vain dream, 
In which I thought thou wert mine own ! 

A moment, on the stream. 
The shadow of my life was thrown, 
And then it passed in sunlight on ! 

The buoyant tide 
Eemembered not the bared tree. 

That drooped beside 
Its waters, wandering to the sea, 
But swept, in fuller beauty, free, 
By castle wall, and fertile plain, 
Unto the boundless main. 



CONSIDER. 

Foe some wise purpose, known in heaven, 
Thy life approached to mine ; — 

The full-orbed moon unto the sea. 
Upon the waters shine 

Its rays, and swell them to a tide 
That wiU not more decline. 

We cannot say unto the wave, — 
Break on the land no more, — 

Although it crumble, day by day, 
Our dwelling on the shore. 

And sweep, at last, in angry foam. 
The shattered roof-tree o'er. 



ERROE m LIFE. 

I DO deceive myselfj like unto him 
Who sees the clouds at even, 

Crowned with the glory of the sun, 
Uprising in the heaven. 

As battlements, — and dreams that far 
Within their shadow lies 

The Holy City of our rest. 

Alas ! how soon the skies 
3- 



42 POEMS. 

Are darkened by the hand of night ! 

And he, who waited long 
To see the golden gates unclose 

Before the heavenly throng, 
Which should, once more, sing songs of 
peace. 

Shall, haply, only hear 
The anthem of the gathering storm, 

In thunders chanted near. 
And see the driving clouds enwrap 

The glory of the skies. 
Such is the aspect of the heaven 

We watch with mortal eyes ! 



HOPE. 

None are so lost on earth, but that 

A final prayer 
May win them mercy in the skies. 

The judgment there 
Is tempered with sublimest love. 

Wherever cast, 
And though a shipwreck thou hast made 

Of all the past, 
Yet may thy humbled soul uplift 

A prayer to God, 
Who pities ever those who bow 

And kiss the rod. 



DREAM ON. 

Dream on. I know thy visions fair 

Find not their type in me. 
The common form of life I bear. 

No deeper mystery 
Than lingers round the lives of all, 

Attends my simple lot. 
Mine is a nature to be known, — 

And then, — to be forgot. 



DREAM ON. • 45 

Thy heart would give its reverence to 

Some character, which rose 
Above the earth. An Alj)ine peak, 

Crowned with eternal snows, 
And glittering silent in the sun. 

Contents thy spirit more, 
Than do the empty fields which lie 

Way-trodden at thy door. 

So let them rest. For thee my hand 

Plucked up the weed and thorn. 
And scattered wide the fruitful seed. 

But though the growth had borne 
The harvest of a holier life, 

The change unto thine eye 
Had brought no gladness ; therefore, let 

The grain unripened die ! 

Better the desert, with its drift 
Of parched and barren sand, — 



46 POEMS. 

Better the sterile rocks, — than see 
Such growth ungathered stand. 

I care not much, if blight and storm 
Shall come and wither all. 

Thou hast not cared, when they have 
bloomed, 
And wilt not, when they fall ! 



THOU KNOWEST NOT. 

Thou canst not tell how strong and deep 

Thy hold on me has grown, 
The ivy has sent down its roots 

To the foundation-stone ; 
And it will live, when rock and wall 

Ahke are overthrown. 



NO MOKE. 

My heart no more can clothe its hope 

With drapery of dreams, 
I have awakened to the truth. 

How cold and sunless seems 
The pathway of departing youth ! 

Our manhood is such day 
As men in Arctic seasons know, 

Where twilight's broken ray 
Eevealeth the unchanging snow. 



NO MORE. 49 

No blush of Summer bloom/ 
No glory of the Spring is there, 
The rugged lines of life appear 

The deeper in the gloom. 
The currents of the younger soul 

Are frozen hard and fast : 
The breath of passion changes to 

A cuttipg wintry blast. 
God help the wanderer who must go 

This Arctic path alone, 
And die within the wilderness. 

Forgotten, or unknown. 



THE LAST OF THE VINTAGE. 

I EAKLY gathered all the fruit 

Witliin the vineyards of my heart, 
And filled and drained my cup, as if 

The new-found wine would ne'er depart. 
And so I lived from day to day, 

Until I saw the lessening store, 
And learned to know the vintage time 

Would come to me on earth no more. 



THE LAST OF THE VINTAGE. 51 

Since that sad wisdom was revealed 

I watch with more than miser's art, 
Whatever now remains of all 

Once stored within my burdened heart. 
I dream, perchance, that what is left 

Has ripened, on the restless sea, 
To richer worth, than all I spent 

In young and thoughtless revelry. 



THE STKEAM OF LIFE. 

The bubbling, shallow, noisy brook, 
Late born in yonder grassy nook, 
Leaps out into the open day, 
Like to a frolic child at play. 
A pebble throws it from its track, 
Or rolls the limpid waters back ; 
And the small pressure of the hand 
Its utmost efforts can withstand. 

Yet, even in that circling play, 

The channel wears a deeper way. 

The neighboring streamlets downward glide, 

And mingle with the growing tide. 



THE STREAM OF LIFE. 53 

The dew-drops from the evening sky, 
Fall on its bosom silently ; 
The Summer rain, the Winter snow 
Are minglino; in its calmer flow. 

Between the hills the deepened stream 
Soon wanders silent as a dream ; 
Its waveless, but unresting tide 
Crumbles the nearing mountain side. 
How few who see the river's force, 
Recall the fountain at its source, 
And the small obstacles, that gave 
A path to its resistless wave ! 



GONE. 

I LOVE no more. The April flower 

Has withered in the Summer sun ; 
It bloomed throughout its filling hour — 

The harvest time has now begun. 
The fields of life encumbered stand, 

Perchance, with nobler growth to-day ; 
And duty guides the laboring hand, 

From ruddy morn to twilight gray. 



GONE. 55 

But yet, although the harvest yields 

Unto my toil a rich return, 
I stand among the flowerless fields, 

And for the growths of April yearn. 
The violet springing by the brook, 

Wild wandering downward to the sea. 
Was lovelier, in its sheltered nook. 

Than are the harvest fields to me ! 



SINK TO THY EEST. 

Sink to thy rest, oli ! glorious sun, 

And draw the veil of night 
Around thy couch within the west ! 

Hail ! to the starry light 
That trembles in the upper sky ; 

And to the full-orbed moon, 
That slow and silent wanders on 

Unto her silvered noon ! 



SINK TO THY REST. 57 

How like a Queen she reigns in heaven ! 

Supreme in all the throng, 
Whose choral voices yet repeat 

Creation's earliest song. 
Look upward, through the boundless night, 

Oh ! wondering soul of man. 
And, to the breadth of endless space 

Compare life's narrow span ! 



A CALM UNKNOWN. 

A CALM, unknown for weary days, 

Upon my spirit fell. 
While lingering by thee yesternight. 
It was as if the swell 
Of ocean broke no more 
In surges on the shore. 
But silent touched the nearing land. 

I trust the Summer peace, 
Then brooding o'er the waves of Time, 
May only know increase. 



GEAVES. 

I SOMETIMES stand at eventide. 
Among a thousand dead, 
Who were, by hands of those they loved. 
Well sepulchred. 

Many, I knew in other years. 
When they and I were young ; 
With some have stood at close of day 
These scenes among. 

The marble tablet tells their worth,- 
The sorrow of their friends. 
With such brief record, all their tale 
Of being: ends. 



60 POEMS. 

I touch, with lingering hand, the grass 
That o'er them richly grows ; 
And mark their stature by the mounds 
Which them enclose. 

There are no footprints round about, 
The dead are left alone. 
The goal of man's affection, is 
The burial stone. 

Why wish for stately monuments 
Above us, when we die ! 
The sad memorial only meets 
The stranger's eye. 

He reads the name with careless glance, 
And then straightway departs. 
The hands of men remember us, 
But not their hearts. 



GRAVES. 61 

As well the pauper's nameless grave, — 
The sleep of friendless men, — 
As be entombed in marble, and 
Forgotten then ! 



THY FANCY IS. 

Thy fancy is, that he alone 
Can rule thy woman mind, 

Whose nature hath to iron grown. 
Unto a will defined, 

And absolute, thy love it seems 
Will wholly be resigned. 

I cannot such a conqueror be ; 

I do not ask for power 
O'er those I love. — As well assert 

Dominion o'er the flower 
That fills with sweetness all the breath 

Of morning's jiurest hour. 



THY FANCY IS. 63 

It is no portion of the love 

Which in my heart I bear, 
To master thy unbroken will, — 

It may its freedom wear. 
The wider realm that love unfolds, 

With thee my life would share. 

Nature has made thee equal to 

The proudest of us all, 
In that high gift of intellect 

Which we our province call ; 
And, though I bow'd in life to none, 

I could not thee enthrall. 

My vision hath been to create 

Such sympathy of heart. 
As will enable thee to bear 

On earth an equal part 
Of joy and care alike. — For this 

Thou nobly fitted art. 



64 POEMS. 

I yield my being up to thee, 
As earth in silence lies 

Beneath the arching heaven : 
Enriching from the skies, 

In sunshine and in cloud alike, 
Its noblest treasuries. 



WHEN I CONSIDER. 

Sometimes, when I consider all 

The tumult and the stir 
Of daily life ; — how often Truth 

Mocks at the worshipper 
Who cleaves unto her earthly robe ; — 

How envy, pride and hate 
Can poison deep the friendly cup. 

And closest hearts unmate ; — 
The sunshine seems to lose its light, 

And all the beauty fades 
From hill and valley, from the fields, 

The sea, and forest shades. 
4- 



WHY NOT CONTENT. 

Oh ! why is not thy soul content 

To let the future find 
Its anchorage where now thou art ! 
Else may the changing wind 
Part us upon the deep, 
Although my heart shall keep 
Such watch as shipwrecked men maintain 

Upon a sail at sea ; 
For, unto vision lost, the hope 
Some storm-girt night may be ! 



THE JOUENEY OF LIFE. 

How can a wanderer, far astray, 
Discover where he missed his way. 
When phantoms mock his straining sight, 
And all the sky is dark with night ! 

At early morn, with buoyant heart. 
They watched him from his home depart. 
The April sky was calm and bright ; 
The clouds were touched with rosy light : 
And, in the shadow of the dawn, 
The fading moonbeams glimmered wan. 



68 POEMS. 

He said it was a cloudless day ; 
He could not miss his easy way : 
That, long before the noon, his eye 
The golden city would descry, 
And he beneath its turrets dwell 
Before the evening shadows fell. 

A moment, — and the boy was gone 
Across the rising ground ; 

And then his footsteps mingled with 
The multitude around. 

The tears upon his earnest lace 

Too soon, alas ! were dry, 
(So full of wonders was the place 

That met his eager eye. 
The busy crowd swept to and fro. 

And sported on the track ; 
Some onward ever seemed to go, 

And some were loiteriug back. 



THE JOURNEY OF LIFE. 69 

' The way is rough and hard/ they said, 
' We cannot climb the mountain's head ; 
And know not if the rugged height 
Does not to other steeps invite.' 

Again there came a goodly band 
Of youths and maidens, hand in hand : 
They stopped upon the neighboring green, 
And danced the stalwart oaks between. 

' The day is long ; this calm retreat 

Is sheltered from the noonday heat ; 

And, when the sun is sinking low, 

Upon our journey we will go. 

For why is all around so fair. 

If none were meant to linger there ? ' 

At morn he listened to the young, 
And laughed and danced the gay among ; 
And when the sun was overhead, 
lie thoufiht of what the elders said. 



70 POEMS. 

Tlie mountain hourly seemed to grow 
More distant to liis weary gaze, 

And, as he mused, the single path 
Was hidden in the evening haze. 

Far up, a lofty pinnacle 

Gleamed in the fast departing light ; 
A beacon, and a sigh of fear 

Unto his unbelieving sight : 
For there the temple glimmered through 

The darkness of the ffrowina; niffht. 



't)"^ 



A beacon, — yet the day was past. 
And all the valley deep, 

Was shadowed in the silence of 
A never-ending sleep. 

The mother, standing at her door, 
Saw not her erring offspring more : 
Nor did the temple's opening gate 
Receive the wanderer, coming late. 



I HAVE BEEN HAPPY. 

I HAVE been happy. Time has been, 

When privilege of life 
Was glorious to my bounding pulse ; 

When all the eager strife 
Of manly effort for the laurel crown, 

Created in my soul 
The joy of an Olympian game. 

The chariots by me roll 
While I stand idle on the earth, 

For, unto me, the race 
Has lost its charm : — I care not who 

Attains the foremost jilace. 



72 POEMS. 

What matter if the strife were done ! 
What matter if the race were won ! 

Once I could live for self alone ; — 

Once the applauding breath 
Of multitudes, had even strown 

The path to early death 
With flowers. — Once, beauty and the love 

Of woman, seemed to be 
The ornaments of life, from which 

'Twere wiser to be free. 
Save in the mirth of festal days. — 

Once Hope a vesture wore, 
With jewels rich and Tyrian dyes. 

Such dreams return no more. 
Were all mine own, my heart would bear 
Only a larger weight of care ! 



THE DEATH OF THE YEAE. 

The sober days of Autumn now 

Are garlanding the Year 
With withered leaves and faded flowers, 

And grasses dead and sere. 

The coronal of Spring is gone. 

The Summer's later glow 
Has paled before the chilling wind, 

And in the early snow. 



74 POEMS. 

The Year is dying, day by day, 

And soon, a wintry niglit 
Shall seal its closing vision to 
The darkness and the light. 

It will not sleep in earthly grave, 
But every heart will bear 

A portion of its ashes, in 
Our pilgrimage of care. 



I LOVE THEE. 

I LOVE thee, as the hunted hind 

Thirsts for the water brook, 
When far across the desert sands 

She turns a weary look. 
Sometimes, unto her straining eye, 

There seemeth to appear 
A distant lake and palm-girt shore, 

But as she draweth near 
The waters vanish in the sky, — 
The palms no more are seen. 
She knows it was a vision, yet 

Her failing strength has been 
Outworn upon the desert bare. 
What wonder, if she dieth there ! 



TO THE PUEEST. 

Thou art within thy chamber dim. 

The slowly waning light 
On darkness verges in the east. 

Beside the embers bright 
Thou sittest long, — forgetful half 

If it be day or night. 

Before thee is the open book 
Of God's revealed word ; 

Upon it rest thy clasped hands. 
No utterance has stirred 

The silent breathing of thy lips, 
And yet thy prayer is heard. 



TO THE PUREST. 77 

Thou prayest that thy life may be 

So ordered, that its end 
Will find thy soul at peace with Heaven. 

No earthly wishes blend 
With holier thoughts. Untainted, all 

Thy prayers to God ascend. 

As Mary turned from all the world, 

And suffered not its care 
To come between her path and heaven, — 

And could her beauty wear 
Unconscious as the opening flower ; — 

So thou, than whom more fair 

Are none in all this glorious earth, 

Canst see each troubled soul 
Around tTiee, strew its path with thorns ; — 

And, with a sweet control 
Of all thyself, await in peace 

Until the golden bowl 



78 POEMS, 

Is broken at the fount of life, — 

Until the silver cord 
Is loosed between thee and the world. 

Thou knowest that thy Lord, 
To whom such innocence is given, 

Will make thee thy reward. 



I HAVE OUTWATCHED. 

1 HAVE outwatched the fires of life ; 

They die upon the plain ; 
And, in the darkness of the night, 

The stars are seen again. 

Mine were the beacon lights of earth ; 

To ashes they have turned : 
Yet, all the while, unwatched above, 

The holy stars have burned ! 

Had I looked to their changeless light, 

I had not gone astray. 
Nor, in the dreary midnight, stood 

Beside the ashes gray ! 



THY KULE. 

Thy spirit rules within my breast, 
A Queen upon tlie throne, 

And all my silent thoughts obey 
Thy sovereignty alone. 

Beloved, wherefore wilt thou not 
Keceive me as thine own ! 

It may not be a regal sway, 

But never potentate 
To nobler uses could command 

The government of state. 
Or wield with more authority 

A willing subject's fate. 



THY RULE, 81 

Oh ! can it not suffice thy mind 

To have such sceptred sway ? 
Or art thou not content, unless 

The multitude obey, 
And to thee, on a gilded throne, 

A ceaseless homage pay ? 

I think it not. Thy angel mind 

No worldly raiment wears, 
Nor seeks, in pomp and circumstance, 

Increase of daily cares. 
Embroidered only on thy breast, 

A Christian cross it bears. 

Thou wilt not leave the throne whereon 

So long thy place has been ; 
But with a kinder rule wilt sway 

My heart, oh ! Virgin Queen ! 
How desolate, if thou wort gone, 

Alas ! were all within ! 



MY SOUL. 
My soul for starless darkness lomrs. 

o 

The night leaves memory free, 
To people every empty heart 

With shapes that may not be 
Discerned in light of common day. 

The grace of vanished youth, — 
The loveliness of other days, 

Are then once more a truth. 

A truth nnto remembrance, though 

Upon life's desert way. 
The flowers that longest bloomed have 
known 

At last a sure decay. 



MY SOUL. 83 

A truth, though none remain, whose love 

Gave beauty to the morn, 
And though we stand at eve alone, 

Forsaken and forlorn. 

Come, night, and draw thy dusky veil 

Across the arching sky ; 
I weary of the golden lights. 

Which on the meadows lie. 
The glory of the earth to me 

Unreal splendor seems, 
Akin to that magnificence 

Which cheats us in our dreams. 



UNTO THE BROKEN HEART. 

There is no beauty in the earth 
Unto the broken heart. 
The song of mirth 
Is sadder than the dirge ; 

And art 

And its creations, seem 

An empty dream. 

The glory of the morning sky, — 

The sun-lit trees, — 
The shaded dells, and meadows near 

To Summer seas, — 



UNTO THE BROKEN HEART. 85 

The chant of woodland songs, — 
The waterfall, — 
Are wrongs 
Unto the eye and ear. 
For they recall 
The lost and dead 
Who from our earthly paths have fled. 



THIS APEIL MOON. 

This April moon will tempt thee forth 

To stand beneath the sky : 
No gloomy shadows of the night 

Upon the meadows lie. 
A veil of beauty robes the earth. 

The distant waters are 
Unto her breast a silver shield. 

Encrowned by the star 
She sleeps, and God above 
Keeps watch with his eternal love. 



THIS APRIL MOON, 87 

Thine eyes are on the earth and heaven. 

Thy silent thoughts outpour 
In solitude the breath of prayer. 

If life can e'er restore 
The grace, which unto nature clave, 

When angels sang on high 
The beauty of the new-born Avorld, 

Thy spirit draweth nigh 

Unto the type, created when 

God walked amono; our fellow-men. 



I cannot hope that in the calm 

Of thy deep thoughts, there came 
Remembrance of my love, or yet 

A murmur of my name. 
But if the wandering spirit may 

Its nearing presence tell, 
My soul has whispered to thy ear. 

I trust the words may swell 



88 POEMS, 

The current of thy heart above 
Its shores, and deepen it to love. 

May angels guard thy rest to-night ! 

Thy childlike sleep shall seal 
Thy vision to the things of earth ; 

But slumber shall reveal 
The land, in which thy spirit dwells. 

I may not enter there : 
And yet I trust thy lips, in dreams, 

Will breathe an earnest prayer, 
That in this world, and that to come, 
We both may find a common home. 



I WATCH ALONE. 

I WATCH alone this silent night, — 

Alone, and yet 
A thousand shapes are gliding near. 

The dead have met 
The living in the shadowy throng. 

Forgotten years 
Upon my head their ashes lay ; 

Forgotten tears 
Their long-dried channels fill, 

And flow at will, 

I feel that I this phantom host 

Could drive away. 

And summon to ray presence all 

The bright array 
5- 



90 POEMS. 

Which Hope can marshal in her train. 

But well I know 
That all, around me gathered now, 

Wore long ago 
The beauty of the earth. 

Behold its worth ! 

A little while, and I may be 

Mourned with the rest : 
The valley clods may crumble on 

My pulseless breast. 
A shadow of a bygone time, 

My name may be ; 
And thou, perchance, in solitude 

Mine image see ; — 
Eecalling then the years, 

I trust with tears. 



WE AEE NOT MASTERS. 

We are not masters of the years ; 

Each Summer hour, 
The current of our lives shrinks up, 

And loses power. 
The full fresh tides of youthful thought, 

That channelled deep 
Their course in earlier, happier days. 

Shall silent sleep 
In mantling pools. The withered tree 

Will to the sun 
Of Summer show its bared boughs ; 

And, standing on 



92 POEMS. 

The meadows wide, the eye shall see 

The harvest field 
So swept by time, that it may not 

To gleaners yield 
Aught for the charities of life. 

The fields were sown 
By hands forgotten. — The harvest was 

For Death alone. 



OH ! PROPHET HEART. 

Oh ! prophet heart ! from early days 

My soiTow was foretold 
By thy deep utterance. The tide 

Of human woe has rolled 
Ceaseless upon the shores of life. 

Sometimes a golden sun 
Has lit the waters with its beams ; 

But yet they broke upon 
The shattered years, and spared them not. 

In sunshine and in cloud. 
Each fair young Hope that ventured forth, 

Has gone unto a shroud. 



94 POEMS. 

Is there no sign of calmer seas ! 

Thou watchman standing far 
Above the mists of earth, — whose brow 

Is crowned with the star 
That shone on Bethlehem long ago, — 

Speak to the waters wild ! 
Kemember all thy sorrows. Lord, 

When thou werfc here a child. 
Oh ! prophet heart ! thy mantle dark 

Upon his altars lay ! 
God stills the waters in their wrath, 

Whene'er his children pray ! 



DREAMING. 

To-night, while I sit dreaming here, 
Perchance thou art at prayer ; 

I would the roaming wind to me 
The murmured words would bear, 

That I might know that thou hadst asked 
For me thy Father's care. 

The world had laid upon my heart. 

For years, an iron hand. 
And closed the gate from whence it looked 

Unto the spirit-land. 
Until I thought I heard thy soul 

Beside the portal stand. 



96 POEMS. 

Iq that calm hour it opened to 
A glimpse of earth and sky, 

Which shone as if an Eden came 
Unto the dreaming eye ; 

And my rapt soul in glory walked 
A brighter world on high. 

I sudden woke from that sweet trance, 
And round me looked to find 

The angel hand, whose touch had oped 
Such vision to the blind. 

And brought a sunshine not of earth 
Unto my darkened mind. 

It was a dream. The dark around 
To me no comfort brought ; 

The echo of a passing voice 
Lived only in my thought ; 

For some sweet strain that floated by, 
My prisoned soul had caught. 



DREAMING. 97 

To-night, ^vllile I sit dreaming here, 

I know thou art at prayer ; 
But, in the voiceless wish thy soul 

Breathes on the evening air, 
The heart that loves thee best on earth, 

Alas ! lias little share. 



THE HISTORY. 

As night by night, in other years, 

I lingered by thy side, 
Methinks I might have known ray heart 

Welled out a fuller tide, 
And seen a freighted hope upon 

Its tranquil bosom glide. 

The waters did not from the rock, 

As in a moment, flow. 
It was no desert miracle. 

They gathered, dropping slow 
From the long sealed font, as if 

They were the melting snow. 



THE HISTORY. 99 

Thine eye discerned the larger stream. 

Although thy heart was free, 
And neither spoke, yet oft thy thought 

In silence turned to me. — 
The rivulet to the river grew. 

Slow wandering to the sea. 

Upon its waves, my mortal hopes 

Float onward to the deep. 
No friendly hands the courses steer. — 

Thy thoughts in silence sleep, 
While sorrow spreads the canvas torn, 

And cares the watches keep. 



THE VOICE OF PRAYER. 

The voice of prayer has ceased with me. 

The Holy gates above 
Are closed unto the heart of him, 

Who made a human love 
His arbiter for all the years. 

Unto that love was given, 
Without return, the worship due 

To God alone in heaven. 

And yet a love so deep and pure 

Deserved a better end. 
I do not at my fate repine, 

For sorrow cannot mend 



THE VOICE OF PRAYER. 101 

The broken links between our lives. 

My refuge is in pride ; 
For gentler thoughts were trodden down, 

And in thy pathway died. 

When men hereafter name my name, 

As one to feeling dead, 
Remember who the final shaft 

Upon its errand sped. 
If manhood be an early grave 

Unto my trusting soul, 
At thy deep fountain broken was. 

For me, the golden bowl. 



OH ! MOKNING STAR. 

Why art thou hidden from my view, 

Oh ! morning star, 
That on Chaldean sages rose ! 

Thy glories are 
Unseen in all the heavens above ! 

A Prince is born 
Unto the nations of the earth ; 

The creed outworn 
Of worldliness is past and dead : 

I bear, within 
My full-stored heart, the offering 

Of what has been 



OH ! MORNING STAR. 103 

Most precious to my elder life, — 

The balm of love, 
Grown pure in life's un withered tree, — 

Yet look above, 
And see no light revealed in heaven ! 

Oh ! morning star. 
By watchful sages earliest seen. 

Shining afar, 
Why falleth not thy light on me ! 

I stand among 
The fields of earth, nor hear the sounds 

Of angel song. 
Ascending to the breaking dawn. 

The morn of crace is irone ! 



THE COMINO SHADOW. 

The shadow of a day 
That soon must come, upon me lies. 

'Tis but abrief dehiy 
Ere thou shalt stand with drooping eyes, 

And, at Grod's altar, say 
The words which give thy life away. 

Within thy heart shall be 
The gladness of a spirit blest ; 

No bitter memory 
Shall wander nigh thy peaceful breast, 



THE COMING SHADOW. 105 

And happy in thy fate, 
Unto the future all thy thoughts shall turn. 

Before the golden gate, 
Then opening wide, shall brightly burn 

The myriad lamps of trust and love, 

Lit by a glory from above. 

I could not cloud thy joy. 
Nor would I, if the power were mine. 

My love hath no alloy 
Of baser thought. I silent stand, 

And see thee wander far 
Beyond the grasp of my weak hand. 

Thy beauty, as a star. 
Shall rise upon another's even, 

While I wait in the night, 
And see no glory in the heaven. 

I mourn the vanished sight 
Of that fair Hope, which led me on. 

And know it is for ever gone. 



KEMEMBRANCES. 

My inward lockings only bring 

Her presence back to view, 
Whom, when my life was in its Spring, 

In every pulse I knew. 
How fair she looked, the greenwood shade. 

The Summer leaves among, 
When, by the breath of evening swayed. 

Her loosened tresses hung ! 



REMEMBRANCES. 107 

I did not dream that she would look 

To other life than mine, 
Though she was as the tranquil brook, 

And I the stormy brine. 
Now wandering in the hills afar. 

Her path is hid from me, 
Though earth and sky and polar star 

Therein may mirrored be. 



THE HAEVEST OF LIFE. 

The buds and blossoms of the Spring 

More beautiful appear, 
Than all the harvest gathered in 

The Summer of the year. 
But they who pluck the fragrant flower, 

And slight the ripened grain, 
Shall mourn among the empty fields, 

In Autumn's sober wane. 



THE HARVEST OF LIFE. 109 

The withered leaves, the broken stalk, 

The blossoms, dead and dry, 
Recall no likeness to themselves 

Beneath the Summer sky. 
And he, who made his harvest such. 

Can only mourn in vain ; 
For never more in life we reap, 

When Autumn's on the wane. 



MY SOUL IS DARK. 

My soul is dark : I cannot see 
The path my feet should tread, 

But hopeless walk the open road, 
The broader way instead. 

Although I knew the sunless land 
To which it ever led. 

Around me rise the mists of earth. 

I grope as in a cloud. 
No answer comes unto my heart. 

Whene'er I cry aloud, 
And every shape about me wears 

The likeness of a shroud. 



MY SOUL IS DARK. Ill 

I silent kneel to God in prayer, 

Alone, at dead of night, 
And inly ask that there should shine 

For me the pillared light. 
Whose radiance glimmered in the van 

Of Israel's dreary flight. 

But all the dark unbroken is 

Unto my straining eye ; 
No light appears to break the gloom 

Of the o'erarching sky. 
A rayless shadow only seems 

To me approaching nigh. 

And yet I know an angel hand 

Is near me on my way, 
Whose lightest touch my listening heart 

Would hasten to obey ; 
And it could lead me through the cloud 

Unto the open day. 



112 POEMS, 

An angel sent, I thought of Heaven, 

To be my spirit guide, 
To whom I have reached out my arms. 

And called on every side ; 
And yet, in all my sorrow, she 

Has not to me replied. 

Percliance she stands beneath the sky, 

Herself in silent prayer, 
Content with Nature, and its wealth 

Of Earth, and light, and air, — 
Forgetful of a parting soul. 

While she is dreaming there. 

So let her dream. — The time may come. 

When she, awakened late, 
Will feel that God appointed her 

To influence my fate ; 
Although, perchance. His providence 

Would not the years await. 



MY SOUL IS DARK. 113 

The years ! who can foretell the end ! 

In all the gloom I stand, 
And hear the glass of time drop down 

The grains of golden sand, 
And know not if I ever may 

Another year command ! 

Oh ! God, why came this messenger 

To me in darkness near, 
Unless she whisper words of hope 

Unto my listening ear ; 
And, with a holy counsel, seek 

My fainting heart to cheer ! 



RELIGION. 

To me, Religion, thou art not 
In dark, ascetic liabit clad. 
I hail thee as a spirit glad. 

Thou hast transformed the lot 
Of martyrs, to a state 

More glorious than a prince's realm. 
The darkest fate 

That can our human life o'erwhelm, 



RELIGION. il5 

Beneath thine eye 
Will brighten, till the upper sky 

Shows not a cloud. 
The shroud, 
When touched by thee is glorified. 

And death defied. 
The grave itself becomes a crystal gate, 

Where we shall wait 
In silent longing, till the bar 

Is lifted high ; 
And then, crowned by the Eastern star, 

Enter the sky. 



TO MY SOUL. 

Why art thou vexed, my soul, 
With ceaseless hist of fame ? 

Nor honor, nor the pride 
Of an undying name, 

Nor wealth, nor loud acclaim, 
Should be thy aim. 

Look on the churchyard, and 
Among the nameless dead, 

Behold the monument 

Above the great man's head. 

His epitaph unread, 
And praise unsaid. 



TO MY SOUL. 117 

Better the simple mound, 
With grasses wild o'ergrown, 

Than sculptured bust, or urn 
Of monumental stone, 

If, to thy God alone, 
Thy worth was known. 



THE DEAD. 

The ploughshare may thy hillock turn. 

The corn ahout it grow, 
The rustic bind the golden sheaf 

Above thee lying low. 

The sun may glimmer on thy bones, 

And they neglected lie, 
And bleach in every Wintry wind, 

And every Summer sky. 

It is as well for thee that such 
Should be thy body's doom, 

As if it lay in sculptured vault, 
In deep cathedral gloom. 



SOLITAKY 'PRAYER. 

Here, ia this solemn depth of wood, 
Away from human eyes, 
My heart an altar makes. 
No worldly thoughts intrude. 
Above me are the skies. 
The breath of Summer wakes 
Among the leaves a mournful air, 
Like to the cadence of a prayer. 



120 POEMS. 

I know an early promise came, 
That God would be 
Where two or three 
Were gathered in His name. 
But, as the Saviour went apart 

To solitary prayer. 
And poured his troubled spirit out 

Unto the midnight air. 
When not a human eye could see 

His agony, — 
So would I, in this lonely place, 
Come nearer to my Father's face. 



PEAYER. 

Bend beneath thy sorrow deep, 
Bend, — but do not break ; 

Unto Hope's reviving light 

Thy burdened heart shall wake. 

God does not on our spirits lay 
More than we should bear, 

But looks to see us ask His help 
In unceasing prayer. 



122 POEMS. 

Thou shalt not need to wait on Him 
As courtiers wait on kings^ 

Until an answer, long deferred, 
A slender solace brings. 

Thy lonely chamber is a court, 
Whence thou canst see His face. 

The sovereign Lord of all the world 
Is near in every place. 



THE PLOUanSHAEE. 

The plouglishare driveth o'er the field,- 

Tbe single flower 
That upward springs to greet the sun, 

Beholds the hour 
Of its untimely death at hand. 

What though the grain, 
In some far distant Summer, yield 

Keturn upon 
The broader stretch of broken land ! 

I shall repine 
That the fair flower no more is mine ! 



A WINTEE NIGHT. 

The Earth is dead. Beneath the snow 
It lieth in a winding sheet ; 

And all who look upon its face, 
Go and return with muffled feet. 

The sad night-wind its requiem sings ; 

The Winter robes it for the tomb ; 
And silent stars burn funeral lights 

Above it, in the deepening gloom. 



I KNOW AT LAST. 

I KNOW at last that thou art not 
Appointed for my guide ; 

Thy gentle heart will never more 
To mine seem close allied. 

I look upon thy love, and feel 
It is a falling tide. 

It was a dream too full of joy, 

To last until the day 
Its glory in the darkness came, — 

In darkness passed away, 
And left me, sleepless, to await 

The morning cold and gray. 



126 POEMS, 

I would the common day were near, 
And that the strife and din 

Of struggHng men were heard alone 
My weary heart within, 

That I might mingle with the crowd, 
Forgetting what has been. 

Why seemed the arching heaven above 

To open unto me. 
And holy angels to descend, 

If in the dawn I see 
No sign of promise, and around 

The desert only be ! 

The desert, and its glittering sand, 
Spread out beneath the sky, — 

Unbroken by the golden palm, — 
No well of water nigh, — 

Where, when the weary traveller halts, 
He only halts to die ! 



TO MY SOUL. 

Wherefore art thou sad, my soul, 
And burdened by thy care ? 

This is thy appointed grief, — 
The burden thou must bear. 

The narrow pathway to thy God 
Is margined by the thorn. 

The heart is lifted up to Heaven, 
From a world forlorn. 



128 POEMS. 

Moiirii not that His will has hushed 
The voices heard in youth. 

Their well loved music filled thy ears, 
And closed thy heart to truth. 

Now, in the dark and silent night, 
The angels round thee stand, 

And long loved faces seem to look 
From out the spirit land. 

Let not the green grass on the earth 
Thy hope with fear affright ; 

It is the curtain which conceals 
An Eden from thy sight. 



IT IS NOT LIFE. 

It is not life to stand alone, 

Upon this wide-spread earth, 
Beside an altar overthrown. — 

The privilege is worth 
No more, than, to the broken stone, 

Rcraemhrance that it bore 
Once the holiest sacrifice ; 

Though never, never more 
Shall Priest, or Priestess, minister 

Before the empty shrine. 
The sacred chalice shattered is. 

And wasted is the wine. 
7 



130 roEMS. 

The desert sands untrodden lie. 

What, though in elder days, 
There rose, to a serener sky. 

The choral song of praise ! 
The oracles of life are dumb. 

With saddest accent plead, 
No voicB shall from the temj)le come 

To answer to thy need. 
It is not life to stand alone, 
Beside thy altar's broken stone. 



THE TIDE OF ANGER 

The tide of anger runs not long in me. 

Its force, constrained, is spent 
Upon the barriers of a soul, 

In trials more content 
To bear ] . isfortune, than to chide. 

The utterance of grief. 
Rising in wild reproach, to me 

AfFordeth not relief. 



132 POEMS. 

I shall not break our slender bonds, 

Because they will not bear 
The burden of a common life. 

We cannot always share 
With whom we will our mortal fate. 

An unseen spirit sways 
Our destiny in this : and he is wise, 

Who silently obeys. 

Unto such sad decree my soul submits. 

Submits with bitter tears, — 
For I behold a lonely path, 

On which the spectre years 
Stand, joyless, waiting till I pass ; 

With crowns of withered flowers 
In mockery set upon the glass, 

With which they count the hours. 

I fear to loose my hand from thine. 
While yet it may remain, 



THE TIDE OF ANGER. 133 

An Eastern star seems shining on 

The rock-hoiind desert plain. 
Oh ! heavenly Father ! wherefore was 

Withheld from me such guide, 
With whom my soul was well content 

To walk the desert wide ! 



FAKEWELL. 

Farewell, — we stand upon the verge 

Of that last hour 
Which ends the journey of the past. 

I have not power 
To stay the purpose of thy heart. 

Thy fixed will 
Unto my saddest utterance speaks, — 

Peace and be still. 



FAREWELL. 135 

Peace lest the sweetness of thy calm 

Should broken be. 
Peace lest the whisper of the world 

Approach to thee. 
Thou wishcst that my love should die, 

And make no sign. 
A silent unseen martyrdom, 

Thou wouldst have mine. 

Thou askest of me to forget, — 

Forget, and be 
A gay companion on the path 

Of life to thee, 
Cheering thy spirit with my mirth. 

Oh 1 would that I 
Could tutor thus my scattered hopes, 

Or from thee fly. 

Could fly, and carry not the links, 
Left broken in 



136 POEMS. 

My wounded heart, and think no more 

Of what has been. 
But cankering there shall thoy remain ! 

Kemain to tell 
The story known unto my life, 

Alas ! too well. 

Unconsciously hast thou filled up 

Unto the brim, 
With bitterness, life's single cup ; 

The vision dim 
Of gladness, with unsparing hand, 

Hast driven far : 
And clouded, in the heaven of life, 

The sinsrle star. 



THE SABBATH MOEN. 

The Sabbath morn should be 
The halting station on the road of life, 

Where to our arrnor we 
May look, and test it for the morrow's strife. 

The battle of the world 
Should not encroach upon this time of rest : 

With all our standards furled. 
We should remove the corslet from the breast. 

And standing silent then, 
Beneath the cope of the o'erhanging sky, 

Remember that all men, — 
The victors and the vanquished, — all nmst die. 
7^ 



138 POEMS. 

The trophies, which we gain 
In the wild struggle, — fighting hand to hand, — 

Shall not our souls maintain, 
When entering naked in the spirit land. 

For soldiers of the cross 
We are not ; but unto that host belong, 

Whose victory is loss, — 
Enlisted ever on the side of wrong. 

While, therefore, on the way 
We halt to try upon the Sabbath morn 

Our armor for the fray, 
Let us consider why the helm is worn. 

Better the olive leaf 
Should, with the myrtle, deck thy humble brow, 

Than be an armed chief 
Among the hosts that look upon thee now. 



THE VOYAGE OF LIFE. 

The cliild, beside his mother's knee, 

Knows little of the open sea. 

In a secluded vale he dwells, 

Where golden sands, and smooth-lipped shells 

Amuse his life ; 
Unconscious that the whirlwinds sweep 
The surftice of the outer deep, 

With never-ending strife. 

He sees, perchance, 
Some bark upon the shore, 
Which sailed of late 
The waters u'er. 



140 POEMS. 

The broken spars, the rifted deck, 
The silence of the wave-washed wreck, 

Impress his heart ; 
But, in the sunshine on the sea. 
And Summer breezes blowing free. 

Such thoughts depart. 

The sturdy oak is growing near. 

The ash within the forest stands, 
And yet he builds an osier bark. 
Secured with silken bands. 
The pennants gay 
Stream from the mast. 
As on the outward tide he floats, 
Receding fast. 

Oh ! mother, who hast known 

The terrors of the sea. 
In all the watches of the night 

How thinks thy son of thee, 



THE VOYAGE OF LIFE. 141 

Who, smiling stood upon the strcand, 
And sent liim helpless from the laud. 

What wonder, when a time 

Of looking out is past, 
Some sad memorial of his fate 
Upon the shore is cast ! — 
And that he. 
Gone down at sea, 
Is lost to earth and all its memory ! 



EAELY DEATH. 

Mourn not sweet soul, that death appeared 

Unto thee while the sky 
Yet brightened to the perfect noon. 

It seemeth hard to die, 
When earth is opening wide the gate 

Unto the golden light. 
And Summer gladness of the young. 

And yet such early flight 
Is sweeter, than when we remain 

To see the sunshine wane, 
And darkness gather on the earth ; — 



EARLY DEATH. 



143 



The night, wherein wc arc 

Unguided by a star ! 
Mourn not sweet soul that death appeared 

Unto thee, ere the day 
Had lost its gladness, — while the flowers 

Knew not as yet decay. 



A LITTLE WHILE. 

A LITTLE while, and we may meet ; 

And that one hour 
Be unto all the growing time, 

As the fair flower 
Unto the green and leafy stem, — 

A crowning diadem. 

A little while, and wc may meet ; 

And that one hour 
Be imto all the passed time, 

As the dead flower 
Unto the dry and leafless stem, — 

A broken diadem. 



IF HOLY ANGELS. 

If holy angels spread their wings 

Around on every side, 
And minister to human life, 

Why wanders, far and wide 
From heavenly paths my erring soul ! 

It stands with listening ear, — 
Lost in the labyrinth of the world, — 

For some sweet whisper near, 



146 roEMS. 

Whicli shall direct its way aright ;- 

But none, alas ! is heard. 
I know snch spirit wandered by, 

For all the silence stirred 
To music, as I breathless stood. 

But to my earnest prayer 
No answer came. — The echo died 

Upon the desert bare. 



IT IS A YEAR. 

Yes ! it is a year, 
Since, in my heart, first kindled were 

The lights of Hojdc and Love. 
The passing Time has tried thy soul. 

Thou canst not move 
The crolden liinajcs from their rest. 
I stand without thy clos6d breast, — 
The gates will never open roll. 



148 POEMS. 

Yes ! it is a year, 
And brief to thee sucli season seems, 
For thou art nursed in Summer dreams. 

And days appear 
As moments to thy sleeping soul. 
To thee my love in visions came, — 

From thee in visions went, — 
And other dreams thy mind control. 

As one in water writes a name, 
While cloudless skies are bent 

Above, — thy heart recorded mine. 
'Twas writ upon a Summer's day. 
And in the sunlight passed away. 

Unruffled now the waters shine. 

Yes, it is a year ! 
To me a time of weary thought. 
The present from the future brought 
No charm against the sorrow near. 



IT IS A YEAR. 149 

In silent toil 
My life has burned its waning oil, 
And other lights are gone ! 
How slowly have the lingering days 

Swept by in laggard flight ! 
How cheerlessly the evening rays 
Are yielding to the night ! 
I wonder, looking on 
The way I came, that human eyes 

Could blinded thus remain. 
But what is wisdom worth, when Time 
Can come no more again ! 

Yes, it is a year ! 
A year, that hath its Spring-time known, — 

Its sweet and flowering May, — 
Its silent Summer, — and at last 

Its Autumn day ; 
And, in the Winter now, its life 

Has passed away. 



THY LIFE. 

Eaeth lias no fountain in her breast 

To match the hidden well, 
From which the waters of thy life 

In stainless beauty swell, 
Sweet flowing from thy inner heart, 

As from a crystal cell. 

But yet its calm and silvery course 

Would vanish like a dream, 
If through its quiet channel swept 

That dark and turbid stream. 
Upon whose wreck-strewn siirface, sleeps 

No golden Summer beam. 



THY LIFE. 151 

Thy gentler course shall softly glide 

The purple hills among, 
As pure as when the waters first 

To light and motion sprung, 
Revealing ever in their depth 

The sky above thee hung. 



I AM NOT FREE. 

I AM not free from taint of wrong. 

Nay, mingling with the flow 
Of purest thought, are elements, 

Which, to my vision, show 
The grosser soil of human life. 

Thus will the current glide, 
Until the waters reach the sea, 

Unless the fuller tide 
Within some peaceful valley swim. 

And, slowlier moving, be 
By its own strength and nature's calm 

Eestored to purity. 



I AM NOT FREE. 153 

Thy thoughts would be the stately hills 

Beside its tranquil way ; 
Thy loN'e would, on its silent depths, 

Shine like a starry ray ; 
And by its verge the flowerets spring. 

Oh ! wherefore should it be 
For ever wandering through the sands, 

To mingle with the sea ! 
Better the fountain at its source 

In other years had dried, 
Than that the desert thus should be 

Swept by its fuller tide ! 



OH ! TEEE OF KNOWLEDGE ! 

Sad tree of knowledge ! from thy bough, 

In Summers gone, 
The golden fruit in beauty hung. 

I gazed upon 
Its sweetness in the night and morn. 

My soul was won 
To touch it by the angel near. 

Yet, though to me, 
It opened holier views of life, 

Mine eye must see 
The radiant gates of Eden closed, 

Eternally, 



TO HOME KETURNED. 

Thou art to us returned again. 

To me it seems 
As if in all thy absence I 

Had walked in dreams ; 
For day was shorn of golden light, 

And all the hours, 
Slowly and sad, went wandering by. 

No crowning flowers 
The hand of Spring upon them cast. 

Cowled were they 
As mourners, who unto a grave 

Bore Time away. 



156 POEMS, 

Yet now that we can meet once more, — 

In happiness, — 
True children of the Summer light, 

They onward press. 
Singing sweet carols in their glee. 

From morn till eve 
They fill my heart with silent joy. 

And chaplets weave 
From such sweet growths as Hope will bring. 

Yet, who can say. 
If these will cheer my heart in all 

The Summer day ! 



I HAVE NOT SEEN THEE. 

I HAVE not seen thee, yet I know 

That thou art near : 
Thy presence as the sunshine comes 

Upon the year, 
That else, in hues of sadness would 

To me appear. 

I have watched for thee, as we look 

In early Spring 
To see the sweet bird on the hough 

Its carol sing. 
While field and greening tree around 

Are blossoming. 



158 POEMS, 

To me, thou as the Spring-time art. 

Thy thoughts are showers 
That, falling on my barren heart, 

Put forth in flowers. 
Until a radiant grace has filled 

The happy hours. 

I have not seen thee, yet I feel 

That thou art near. 
And brightest Summer lends its charm 

Unto the year. 
To me, of Hope the coronal 

Thou dost appear. 



UNMOVED WE SEE. 

Unmoved, we see the floweret die, 

Before its open leaves 
Have caught the glory of the sky. 

Unmoved, in Summer eves, 
We watch the clouds in darkness hide 

The myriad stars, which burn 
Their heavenly watch-fires far and wide. 

The floweret shall return 
In beauty to another Spring ; 

The clouds, on other nights. 
Will shadow not with dusky wing 

God's glorious beacon lights. 



160 POEMS. 

But, not unmoved, we see decay 

The growth, the spirit bears 
Before our manhood fades away. 

Among the tangled cares 
Of life, the single flower is born. 

Alas ! the barren earth 
In its creation is outworn ; 

And all the after worth 
Of Time, is counted by a hand 

That toils in endless pain. 
But cannot, to the barren land, 

Bring back its growth again. 

Oh ! not unmoved the heart remains 
When we in darkness are. 

One single night, upon the plains 
Of earth, we watch the star. 

Which is in seeming promise sent. 
If clouds obscure its ray 



UNMOVED WE SEE. 161 

In that brief time, our watch is spent. 

For the eternal day 
Which Cometh after, will not wane 

Unto another night. 
The star, beheld from earth, again 

Will never meet our sijrht. 



8* 



THE HEAKT IS SELFISH. 

The heart is selfish in its love ; 

It brooks no presence near 
The throne on which it fain would rule, 

And, with unquiet ear, 
Harks to a stranger's whispered name. 

What wonder is it then, 
If a deep sadness fills its realm, 

Whene'er we see again. 
Returning to assert its sway, 
Some impulse of an earlier day ! 



THE HEART IS SELFISH. 163 

I know that I ungently deal 

With thee in all my life ; 
And yet, God knows, my nature hath 

Maintained an earnest strife 
Against the impulse of its love. 

And that I love thee, thou 
Wilt know before the time has cast 

One shadow on thy brow. 
One shadow ! will that shadow be 
A tribute to my memory ! 

Alas ! for him, whose love lay hid, — 

As, in the Wintry snow. 
The floweret sleepeth till the Spring ! 

If some untimely glow 
Melt the white cerements of its bloom, 

The slender stalk shall rise 
And blossom in the sunshine, which 

A moment fills the skies. 



164 POEMS. 

Shall blossom, but its opening breath 
Assures the floweret's early death. 

Mine is no thought of covert blame, — 

No murmur of despair. 
A silent blessing greets thy name, — 

Thy name is all my prayer. 
To me, thou art the goal of life ; 

To me, its only prize. 
I shall not win thee. Can I stand 

And see, with tearless eyes. 
Another pass me in the race. 
On whom is turned thy thoughtful face ? 

There is no wisdom in this cry 
Of pain, at midnight hours. 

When once the sudden frost has touched 
The earth's untimely flowers. 

What sorrow will their bloom restore ! 
But why bewail the dead, 



THE HEART IS SELFISH. 165 

Who long have dwelt within our hearts, 

If we no tears shall shed 
O'er vanished hopes, whose promise brought 
God's Eden home unto our thought ! 



UPON THE THRESHOLD. 

Upon the thresliokl of my life 

A glorious vision stands ; 
It pauses ere it wanders forth, 

And vainly clasps its hands. 
In sorrow clasps them, as it goes. 

It goes to come no more, 
Unless its memory haunt my soul 

Upon death's silent sliore. 



UPON THE THRESHOLD. 167 

A glorious vision, born to me 

When life was in its prime, 
And yet reviving all the grace 

Which blessed an earlier time ! 
Within my rugged heart it grew. 

Perchance a guest unmeet, 
Though flowerets, in that lonely place. 

Sprang up beneath its feet. 

I know not why, but all is changed. 

A glorious vision stands 
Upon the threshold of my life. 

And vainly clasps its hands. 
In sorrow clasps them, as it goes ; 

For it will come no more, 
Although its memory haunt my soul 

Upon death's silent shore. 



I STOOD ALONE. 

I STOOD alone, within the night, 

And watched the taper's beam 
In thy near chamber dimly burn. 

Alone, and yet a dream 
Came wandering to me in the gloom. 

I saw a thoughtful face. 
With eyes intent upon the air, 

Watch in that silent place, 
As if old memories came and went, 

Beheld bv it alone. 



I STOOD ALONE. 169 

Sometimes the light of happy smiles 

Upon her brow was thrown, 
As if the wayward phantoms breathed 

The songs of earlier years, — 
The songs. Youth sings unto the soul, 

While yet we know not tears ! 

Then would the fleeting brightness fade. 

Such music j^assed away, 
And, to her heart, a sadder voice. 

Sang of a later day, — 
A day that cometh to us all, — 

When sorrow standeth by. 
Uncrowning all the golden hours. 

As over us they fly ! 

A sweeter calm to her returned. 

And, in the deeper night, 
I saw, in her uplifted eyes, 

The glory of a light. 



170 POEMS. 

That Cometh not from sun, or star. 

Before the voice of prayer, 
The thronging phantoms fled away, 

And left, upon the air, 
No echo of their changing lay. 

Peace had again returned 
Unto her soul ; and, in its depths, 

God's altar only burned. 



IN VAIN. 

I RAISE unquiet eyes to heaven, 

But dark its glories are ; 
In all the gloom of night shines forth 

No solitary star. 
The faint and flickering lights of earth 

Gleam in the valley far. 

Each moment, as my steps ascend. 
The path more barren grows ; 

The distant laurels cheer mc not, 
I miss the valley rose : 

No floweret blooms upon the edge 
Of these unkindly snows. 



172 POEMS. 

Ah ! had I dwelt in lowlier thoughts, 
A happier life were mine ! 

Faith had relit her holy fire 
In the deserted shrine, 

And bade me, to a calmer thought, 
My purposes resign. 



THE CLOUD. 

A CLOUD envelopes earth and sky. 

This dark and dreary day 
Were emblem fit of life to me, 

But that to-morrow may 
The glory to the sky restore, 

And to the earth its grace. 
While my sad soul no light discerns 

Within its darkened place. 



174 POEMS. 

Fate lias its sharpest arrows sent. 

The bulwark of my pride, 
Cast down in an unequal strife, 

Is shattered far and wide. 
And in the breach I silent stand. 

Yet were my courage high, 
But that I see it matters not 

If 1 should fight, or fly. 

Oh ! fatal hour, when first to me 

At morn thy beauty came ! 
Oh ! fotal hour, when first I dwelt 

In thought upon thy name ! 
Oh ! yet more fatal time than all. 

When, in a year gone by. 
That love was born, which in thy car 

Breathed out its earliest cry. 

To thee, that night, my inmost soul 
Was opened as to God ; 



THE CLOUD. 175 

With thee, that night, in happiness, 

The paths of earth I trod. 
So near me came thy glorious love, 

That, in its fervent breath, 
My heart leaped up to greet its hfe. 

And dreamed not of its death. 

Yet even then a memory 

Was echoing in thy heart ! 
Thy steps drew near me only that 

They might from me depart ! 
They leave me on the fields of life 

Where I its toils began ! 
They leave me, if I know my doom, 

On earth a hopeless man ! 

The voice of sorrow has not strength 

To reach the happier ear : 
Thy heart, in peace, the bitterest cry 

My lips can breathe, would hear. 



176 POEMS. 

While I in thy calm presence stood, 
Thou couldst foresee the day 

Thy maiden hand, in other troth 
Would give thy love away. 

What matter when these years shall end ! 

Perchance it is a crime, 
To see but sorrow in the space 

Of Grod's appointed time, 
And fold our hands in dull despair. 

But if the end shall be 
The severance of thy lot from mine. 

No joy is left for me. 

The years have left but one desire. 

When it shall live in vain, 
I care not if the lamp of life 

To sudden darkness wane. 



THE CLOUD. 177 



If we shall part, — the bitterest chance 

That e'er my life beset, 
Were blessing to the woe, which came 

Because our pathways met. 



THE WATCHES OF THE NIGHT. 

How many lonely eves have I 

Watched in this silent place, 
And, through the darkness, dimly seen 

That well remembered face, 
Whose lineaments are graven on 

The tablets of my heart. 
Oh ! memory, to the happy thou 

A sweet enchantress art, 
Restoring to the years their bloom, — 

Unto the past its grace, — 
And bringing sunshine back again 

Unto the darkened place. 



THE WATCHES OF THE NIGHT. 179 

But there are hearts, upon whose May 

Thick fell the whirling snow ; 
And, in the early Autumn, such 

Forget the Summer's glow, 
And sorrow for their withered Spring. 

They feel that manhood's prime 
Was saddened by the blight, which came 

Upon an earlier time. 

Alas ! it is too surely true 

That, by the hand of fate. 
The key note of our lives is struck, 

While yet our souls await 
The opening of the iron doors 

Upon the road of life. 
The few to gentlest music move, 

The many hear the strife 
Their souls must make with sorrow, in 

The low discordant cry, 



180 POEMS. 

Wrung from their trembling heart-strings, 
while 

To childhood they are nigh. 
A pause there may be in such strain, 

But woe to him, who hears 
In that sad space, a gentler song. 

He shall renew, in tears, 
His toil among the empty fields 

Of God's ungathered years. 

In distant lands, where leafy palms 

Eise in a barren clime. 
The wanderer, musing at their feet. 

Can hear the far-off chime 
Of Sabbath bells, across the waste. 

The sounds of earth and air 
By memory are wrought, until, 

To the sad heart, they bear 
A likeness to the sounds of home : 

And he can sink to rest, 



THE WATCHES OF THE NIGHT. 181 

Beyond the surges of the sea, 

With echoes thrilling by, 
That seem to wander from a home 

Beneath his native sky. 

But there are wanderers, where the palm 

Breaks not the drifting sand, — 
Whose feet are loneliest, when they walk 

Within their native land : — 
To whom the chime of Sabbath bells, 

Heard in the evening air, 
Summons a shadow from the past, 

And not their souls to prayer. 
Wanderers are these homeless men. 

Who sit beside their hearth. 
As homeless, for their need of love, 

As any on the earth. 

Oh ! memory, to the happy thou 
A sweet enchantress art, 



182 POEMS. 

But all thy sorcery is denied 

Unto the saddened heart. 
Her face I see in all the hours, 

It Cometh as the dream 
Our Parents knew, when never more. 

By wood and sunlit stream, 
In Eden they in gladness dwelt ! 

Within the desert place, 
The glory of that Eden fell 

Upon each sleeping face, 
To mock the waking vision with 

A world that lay around, 
When all the glorious sunlight shone 

Upon accursed ground. 
Woe to the memory which restores 

An Eden to the heart, 
When angels watch the closed gates, 

And only say — Depart ! 



MY LOVE NO SOLACE IS. 

My love no solace brings to thee, 

Thy heart is closed unto 
The tribute x^oor. Before the gate, 

And in the common view, 
To thee I have an offering made. 

But the unopened door 
Received it not ; and in the dust 

It lieth evermore. 

It was no gift of royal price. 

No broidered altar cloth, — 
No title to a fair domain, — 

Was earnest of my troth : 



184 POEMS. 

It was a simple manly love, 
Which, like an Alpine flower. 

Among the snows, had blossomed in 
The sunshine of an hour. 

Twas all I had. — I could no more. 

And while the fresher hue 
Remained, I know the perfume stole 

The closed lattice through, 
And wooed thy wandering footsteps near. 

Near, while the morning breath 
Its sweetness wasted on the air, — 

Aye, — wasted to its death. 

Within the dust the offering lies ! 

I watch, with folded hands. 
The withered leaves, half lost to view 

Beneath the drifting sands. 
I know that if the opening flower 

Could thus neglected lie, 



MY LOVE NO SOLACE IS. 185 

In all the time it shall remain, 
Till it, unnoticed, die. 

Die, — while a fuller sunshine falls 

Upon thy maiden life ! 
Die, — ere my weary steps return 

Unto the endless strife 
Which I with fate and fortune make ! 

Die, — while other flowers 
Are garlanded by happier hands. 

To grace thy bridal hours ! 

Then shall the closed gates unbar, 

And thou with angel grace. 
Companioned, on thy pathway go. 

Kemembrance will not trace 
My footprints in the sands of life. 

And, on such sunlit day. 
The breath of thy full joy will bear 

All withered leaves awav. 



186 POEMS. 

Yet all things, which have lived, remain ! 

Remain, although the years 
Oblivion promise, as they go, 

And though the past appears 
Unto us a forgotten dream ! 

Remembrance will not die ! 
And, in a day to come, our past 

Will cloud thy thoughtful eye. 

Will cloud it, though I blame thee not ! 

For, by the closed gate 
Of thy young life, I silent stand : 

Accepting, as my fate. 
The withering of life's single flower, 

And, turning to depart. 
With only blessings echoing in 

The silence of my heart. 



MY VISION. 

We were not friends in childhood. 

She to beauty grew 
Far from the maze of wildwood, 

My footsteps struggled through. 

Kent by the thorn, — 
Slow climbing o'er the fallen tree,- 
With heart outworn 
By long expectancy 



188 POEMS. 

Of open fields and sunlit streams, — 
Upon such Eden space I came, 

And saw the vision of my dreams, 
And breathed her name. 

In the golden eventide 
We wandered through the meadows wide. 

Would you behold that vision fair ! 

Think not of starry eyes, 
Nor marble brow, nor clustering hair, 

Nor blush of sunset skies 
Mantling in the cheek of youth. 

Upon her thoughtful face. 
Enthroned sat the purer grace, 
That Cometh of angelic truth. 

Oh ! balmiest eves ! 
When in the lonely woodland, we 

Beheld the leaves 
Stir in their slumber silently, 



MY VISION. 189 

As the low night-wind trembled by. 

And wandered home, 
With stars dim shining on our way. 

Thrice have come 
Autumnal shadows since that day. 

Autumnal shadows ! yet before 

Each Autumn came a Spring, — 
A Spring that shall return no more ! 

Whose blossoming 

Gave promise of a golden fruit. 

I know not why, 
But yet a canker to the root 

Came ever nigh. 
I saw, beneath each Summer sky, 

The blossoms die ! 

Such is the worth, 
That crowns the promise of the earth ! 



190 roEMs. 

There is, upon the Summer air, 
A breath of Winter flying past. 

The forest walks, we trod, are bare. 
Its leaves are scattered on the blast. 
Our footsteps never more 

Shall wander by the willowed shore 
Of that shallow, rippling stream. 
Whose music mingles with my dream 

Time with trembling hands, 
Counts the last grains of golden sands. 

The tangled maze of wildwood, — 

The wearied heart of childhood, — 
The glimpse of fields and sunny streams,- 

Are now as dreams. 
The wintry time of life is near ! 

And never in another year, 
To me that vision will appear ! 



MY VISION. 191 

Upon the open plain, 

I see the sunlight wane, 
Wane, — to come no more again ! 
The fields, the snow shroud only wear. 

Life will never know 
The melting of that shrouding snow ! 



WE MAY BE PARTED. 

We may be parted. Changing winds, 

Upon the tossing sea, 
Leave each alone in all the day. 

Yet shall the haven be 
Unto our wandering barks the same. 

Near to the calmer shore, 
My lonely heart shall watch the deep, 

And wait thee evermore. 



WE MAY BE PARTED. 193 

Thou art upon the waves alone. 

Alone, — and yet on high 
God sets the signal of thy course 

Within a cloudless sky ; 
The larger sun of Holy Truth, — 

Which ever brighter grows, 
As round about our mortal path, 

The earthly shadows close. 

We may be parted, yet I watch 

Beside the calmer shore. 
To see the lifting of thy sail 

The far horizon o'er. 
The changeless beacon lights of heaven, — 

The breath of God,— will be 
The polar star, — the steady wind, — 

To bring thee unto me. 

10 



THE DEATH OF HOPE. 

WiTHEsr the chambers of my heart, 
Hope, weak and fainting, lies. 

My silent thoughts in sorrow look 
Upon her as she dies. 

They wait, until she breathes no more^ 
To close her glazing eyes. 

There is no mark of age upon 
Her wan and pallid face. 



THE DEATH OF HOPE. 195 

Her beauty, though by sorrow dimmed, 

Retains the olden trace, 
Which to her mien in childhood gave 

A more than angel grace. 

She is not old, and yet the tears 

Have frequent channels worn 
In that fair cheek, whose color once 

Flushed like the Early Morn, 
When, in her chamber in the East, 

The infant day is born. 

She is not old, and yet her thread 

Of mortal life is spun. 
The sands within her broken glass. 

Once golden in the sun, 
Drop slowly in the darkness, and 

At last have ceased to run. 

Within the chambcis of my heart, 
Hope now is lying dead. 



196 POEMS. 

My speechless thoughts in sorrow leave 

Their rising tears unshed, 
And close the chambers evermore, 

Where she is sepulchred. 



CONCLUSION. 

Here, Memory, pause with folded hands, 
And to the Past return no more. 

Oh ! lohy recall the golden sands, 
The dream upon the Ocean shore. 

TJie Summer time, in ivhich ivas set 
The sail unto the favoring breeze, 

Hath to the Autumn changed, and yet 
There is no sign of halcyon seas. 

Here, Memory, pause ivith folded hands, 
And to the Past return no more, 

For never shall its golden sands 
Renew the footprints on the shore. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

lllllllllillllillllllll 

015 762 508 1 W 



